


All I Want For Christmas

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Series: The Autumn of Our Content [3]
Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it actually possible to plan a Christmas wedding in New York City on four months' notice?  Can Castle and Beckett survive that long as roommates without (a) killing each other and/or (b) giving in to the temptation they've promised to resist?  And what happens when the wedding day finally arrives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:**  
> _Castle_ is the creation of Andrew W. Marlowe and belongs (more or less) to ABC Studios. The following story is set some time in the future, and may or may not reflect events as they eventually play out on the series itself.
> 
> **Notes:**  
> This is the third story in the _Autumn of Our Content_ series, and begins approximately two weeks after the events of _The Most Difficult Four Months_. I'm projecting three chapters (and this from a concept that began as a short one-shot).
> 
> It may be observed that a certain secondary character is not identified by name in Chapter 1. This individual's identity (and source canon) is – for the moment, at least – left as a challenge to the reader, and will not be confirmed or denied until the character arrives onstage.

A word of advice: never agree to a Christmas wedding on four months’ notice.  Especially if you’re getting married in New York City.

“I thought you had a guy for everything,” Kate said on an evening two weeks after the dinner at Morgan’s restaurant.  We had closed a case that afternoon involving an Upper East Side deli owner – as it turned out, he’d been done in by poisoned horseradish rather than poisoned pastrami.  So we’d come home early to work on wedding arrangements, and Kate had just been turned down by the ninety-third church on her list.  “Say, a priest at St. Patrick’s.  The rector at Trinity.  Right now I’d even talk to a flexible rabbi.”

A memory flashed across my mind’s eye as I gazed at her fondly over the breakfast bar.  “I knew a flexible rabbi once.  Unfortunately, that was in California, and these days I think she’s coaching gymnastics.”

“That is _not_ helpful,” said Kate, visibly resisting the impulse to reach for my ear.

I sighed.  “The Castle family’s history with churches has been...more than a trifle checkered.  As you might have deduced from Mother’s and my marital record.”

“So was your history with police officers,” Kate pointed out, “before we met.  But that didn’t stop you from latching onto me.”

“A palpable hit,” I said.  “In fact, I do know one or two influential members of the local clergy.”

“I hear a _but_ coming on.”

“You have exceptional ears,” I told her.  “Who knew how devout New Yorkers are during the holiday season?  As far as my friends can tell, every church in the five boroughs is jammed full for all of Christmas week.”

“And none of them are susceptible to the application of a little judicious philanthropy?”

I adopted an expression of pained shock.  “Kate!  Surely you’re not suggesting we bribe a respectable house of worship?”

“Certainly not,” she retorted.  “But I’m assuming you tried anyway.”

“You know me entirely too well.  I did make a few polite overtures, but to no avail.  Christmas is apparently the one week out of the year that everyone shows up for church services at once...and there are a lot of services.  I actually did get us onto a waiting list at Trinity – behind two hundred and eight other couples.  Somehow, I don’t think we should count on all of them cancelling their plans.”

“I suppose not.”

My mother sailed into the apartment, tossing a glance at the phone in Kate’s hand on her way to the liquor cabinet.  “Still no luck, I take it?”

We both shook our heads, and I shrugged.  “We may yet have to elope.”

Kate shot me a glare.  “Not an option.  We promised Alexis, remember?  And you promised me a traditional wedding.”

“We may have to broaden our definition of _traditional_.  Maybe if we had this place consecrated as holy ground....”

Kate laughed.  “After everything you’ve undoubtedly done here?  Besides, I’m not that desperate.”  She paused.  “Yet.”

Mother, however, turned suddenly thoughtful.  “There is,” she said, “a production of _Becket_ about to go into the St. Clement.”

“Of what?”  Kate gave her a confused look.

“_Becket_,” I said, “with one T, not two.  As in the play by Anouilh, I presume.”

“Precisely.  And as I recall, they’re planning to open for previews early in January.”

Kate held up a hand, still looking puzzled.  “Whoa,” she said.  “Time out.  How did we get from wedding plans to off-Broadway openings?”

Mother’s smile was positively feline.  “By way of Thomas á Becket, dear – archbishop of Canterbury under Henry the Second.”

“Whose story takes place largely in Canterbury Cathedral.  And if previews start in January, the sets should be rigged by mid-December at the latest.”  I paused, turning toward my mother.  “So, who do you know and how well? Or should I even ask?”

She tried to look stern, but she was too pleased with herself to hold onto the expression.  “Now, Richard!  It just so happens that two of _Becket_’s producers – and the set designer, if I’m not mistaken – were involved with my run of _The Mousetrap_.  There shouldn’t be the least trouble making arrangements.”

I had never seen Kate Beckett look quite so boggled.  “So the idea is that we have the ceremony on a theater set rigged to look like Canterbury Cathedral?”

“Why not?” I said.  “We’ll only need it for a couple of hours at most, and they may not even schedule rehearsals during Christmas week.  It ought to be nearly as good as the real thing.  Mother, you are a genius.”

She bowed.  “At your service.  And yours,” she added, addressing Kate.  “Assuming you approve, that is.  It is your wedding, after all.”

My fiancée let out a bemused breath.  “I’m not sure I have a choice.  Anyway, who could resist the chance to play the lead in an off-Broadway show?”

“Oooh,” I said, “I hadn’t thought of that.  We’ll have to make sure they put our names in lights on the marquee.”

“What, and attract every paparazzi in the state?  Don’t even think about it.” 

I caught her hand before she could strike.  “Apples!  All right, no marquee.  But there should definitely be a souvenir program.  With pictures.”

“We’ll see,” Kate said, chuckling.  “Just one thing – we may have a location, but we still need a minister.  And somehow I don’t think the archbishop of Canterbury’s going to be available.”

A light bulb went off in my head.  “I have an idea about that.”

#

For once, Mother was as good as her word.  Nine phone calls and a surprisingly modest deposit later, we’d reserved a faux cathedral for the day after Christmas.  We also had a priest, though he’d agreed only after a private twenty-minute conversation with Kate.  “In the procedural sense,” he said afterward, once I was back on the line, “this is irregular in the extreme.  Patently, however...”

“Thank you,” I said, surprised at the depth of feeling in my voice.  “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

 He chuckled.  “A pledge more properly made to the estimable Kate.  We must talk again soon – no, there is one matter that ought not wait.  What thought had you given to music?”

Kate and I exchanged glances.  “It hadn’t come up yet,” she said.  “Obviously we’ll need to make arrangements, since our ‘church’ doesn’t come with an organist or a choir.”

“I can get—”

“Not all problems need be solved by the application of money,” my priestly friend interjected mildly.  “If you and Kate are willing, I can bring the necessary persons with me.”

Kate raised a questioning eyebrow at me.  I nodded at her, and she shrugged.  “Done,” I said.  “Just let us know how many passengers there’ll be so I can tell the charter service.”

After we ended the call, Kate gave me a doubtful look.  “Are you sure that was wise, letting him handle the music?”

“You don’t trust him?”

“It’s not that,” Kate said.  “He’s – I don’t know, _insightful_ understates it by orders of magnitude.  But I kind of got the impression he can be absent-minded, too.”

I grinned.  “He’s given off that vibe ever since we met.  But he’s also one of the smartest men I’ve ever known, not excluding me.  And he has even more guys for everything than I do.”

“And most likely better taste,” Kate said thoughtfully.  “All right, we’ll run with it.  But if he shows up with a klezmer kazoo orchestra, I reserve the right to leave you both at the altar.”

#

While I’d formally (and happily) ceded most of the wedding planning to Kate, there was one job I couldn’t delegate, especially since we’d settled on a date and location.  It took five rounds of phone tag over the next two days, but I finally caught up with Alexis.

“Dad!” she said, sounding a little breathless.  “Is anything wrong?”

“Wrong?  Why should anything be wrong?”

“You don’t usually leave voicemail in mad-scientist voice more than once a day.”

 “Oh.  Did I—?”

“At 2:23 you said Igor would be around to collect my brain if I didn’t call ASAP.  At 4:36 you announced that if I didn’t call back by sunset, your army of giant lobsters would swarm the campus.”

“I trust that you gave those warnings the serious consideration they so clearly deserved.”

“Of course.  I’ve already alerted the mad-science faculty – and the dining hall staff.  If those lobsters show up, we’ll be ready.”

I made an approving noise.  “In that case, I’ll reserve my lobster legions for another day.  But as long as I’ve got you on the line—”

“Not to worry, Dad,” Alexis said cheerfully.  “Classes are still great, my roommate is still totally cool, the food’s almost as good as your cooking, and I haven’t joined the depraved vampire sorority out to seduce the entire campus into becoming their personal blood bank.”

“And why not?” I demanded, unable as always to resist a chance to tease.  “Think of the designer outfits, the never-ending parties, the vast fortunes they must have tucked away.”

“Right,” said Alexis.  “Also the dry cleaning bills, the trail of cute but horribly murdered corpses, and the being stuck in college for eternity or till somebody comes along with a stake.  I think I’ll pass.”

“If you say so.  In fact, however, I did not call to discuss your disturbingly quick adjustment to life on the outskirts of civilization.”

I could practically hear my daughter frowning over the phone.  “Now I know something’s wrong.  Come on, tell me.”

“There is nothing to tell,” I said patiently.  “There is, however, a small favor I was hoping you might do for me.”

“From the outskirts of civilization?”

“No, actually – this would be when you’re home for Christmas.”

“Christmas?”  Alexis sounded puzzled, then suddenly squealed with enough delight that I had to pull the phone away from my head.  “Oh, this is about the wedding!  What can I do?”

“First, be gentle with my ear,” I told her after the echo had faded.  “That’s the one Kate grabs.  Second – there’s this tradition at weddings, where a highly responsible person makes sure that the groom doesn’t lose track of the bride’s wedding ring, and also stands up at the reception and makes a suitably witty toast in honor of the happy couple.”

“That would be the best man,” Alexis said.  “So who’d you get, and how can I help?”

I swallowed.  “That’s just it – I don’t have one yet.  And there’s just one person in the whole entire world I’d really trust with the ring, and the toast, and _not_ to stage a totally inappropriate bachelor party that might annoy Kate enough to call the whole thing off at the last minute.  And that would be—”

“Me?” Alexis sounded skeptical.  “I mean, I see where you’re coming from.  But shouldn’t the best man be, you know, a guy?”

“Doesn’t have to be,” I said.  “This is the 21st century, and I can have a best girl if I want to.  And I want to.  Very much.  Besides,” I added, “think of it as a way to escape the inevitable disaster that is the traditional bridesmaid’s dress.”

The connection went quiet for a moment.  Then: “So what does a best girl wear?  Do I need to get a tux?”

“I’m leaving all wardrobe questions to you and Kate.”

“Good choice,” said Alexis. “Does she have her maid of honor yet?”

“I don’t think so.  She did say she might ask you—”

There was an explosive giggle from the other end of the line.  “I should have seen that coming.  I almost wish I could – but I can’t be best girl _and_ maid of honor at the same time.  Unless it’s a musical comedy wedding.”

“I don’t think that’s the plan.  Although we are opening off-Broadway.”  I explained the arrangements we’d made with Mother’s contacts.

“Whoa,” Alexis said.  “That’s just...amazing.  Okay, I’m in.  I’ll call Kate about outfits and like that.”

“Best.  Daughter.  Ever,” I told her.  “Have a virtual hug.  Or three.”

She giggled again.  “Best Dad ever.  I am so looking forward to Christmas!”

“So am I,” I said automatically, unable to keep a certain hormonal anticipation out of my voice. 

“TMI, Dad!  Got to go now, the dining hall opens in five minutes.”

I had just time to say “Love you!” before she ended the call.

#

I spent most of the next morning writing, finishing Chapter Three of _Heat Rises_ before the doorman buzzed to announce a delivery from my agent, Paula – author’s copies of my latest books, the paperback edition of _Heat of the Moment_ as well as the new hardcover, _Desert Heat_.  After a quick look at both volumes to make sure there’d been no embarrassing production errors, I headed for the precinct, though not before inhaling a slice of meatball-and-olive pizza from our neighborhood take-out place.

I emerged from the elevator to find Esposito and Ryan sitting on opposite sides of Esposito’s desk, on which sat a stack of papers at least four and a half inches high.  “Working on a novel?” I asked.

“Reviewing the reports on the mail-order ninja case,” Ryan said without looking up.  “The trial’s about to start; we’re scheduled to testify day after tomorrow.”

“Whoa.”  That case had happened way back in February.  It had been a straight romantic triangle – girl dates boy, girl dates second boy, first boy dresses up in black outfit and kills second boy with shuriken and nunchaku ordered off an Internet site.  The crime scene had been spectacular, but the murder itself took Lanie and Kate less than four hours to solve.  “The guy didn’t make a deal with the DA?”

“The kid’s lawyer’s been trying to work an insanity defense, but the DA won’t go for it,” Esposito explained.

“I am so not surprised,” I said, heading for the espresso machine.  “He really should’ve ordered the Smoke Pellets of Invisibility from that Web site.  Or the Mask of Having A Clue.”

Esposito’s eyebrow went up.  “You, of course, now have a closetful of those pellets.”

“Just two boxes.  I wanted to be sure they really worked before stocking up.  But I learned a valuable lesson.”

Ryan grinned.  “Not to trust someone who says they’re a ninja on the Web?”

“Not to test a ninja smoke pellet in a confined space.  I apparently got the Smoke Pellets of Pepper Gas by mistake.”

The grin turned to a wince.  “Ouch.”

“I feel your pain,” Esposito put in.  “Of course, as a law-abiding citizen, you promptly and properly disposed of the remaining cache of dangerous chemical weapons.”

“Of course,” I agreed, “and I am shocked, shocked that you might think otherwise.”  I instantly resolved to find a better hiding place for the remaining pellets.  It wouldn’t do for Ryan and Esposito – not to mention Kate – to come across them during some future poker night.

Kate glanced up from her own heap of paperwork.  “You’re here.  Any particular reason?”

“Do I need a reason to drop in on the woman of my dreams?”

“Keep dreaming,” she advised.  “I’d like to finish the reports on our horseradish poisoner this afternoon.”

“You wound me,” I told her.  “I’m tempted not to give you this.”  I reached into my briefcase and produced a copy of _Desert Heat_.

She eyed it and shrugged.  “Read it in proof.  Tagged the killer by Chapter Six.”

“I rewrote the crucial paragraph in Chapter Six to address just that issue.”

Ryan, meanwhile, was halfway out of his chair.  “That’s the new one?  If Dream Girl here doesn’t want it—”

“Not to worry,” I said, quickly pulling out two more copies.  “I didn’t forget you two.  Signed and inscribed, of course.” 

Esposito took his, glanced at the title page to see what I’d written, then tucked his copy into a drawer.  Ryan did much the same thing, only after scanning the inscription, he flipped to the next page and kept reading – then nearly dropped the book.  “Holy Mother of – hey, you have to see this!”

“See what?”  Esposito stood up, peering over Ryan’s shoulder.

“The dedication.  _To R and E at the 12th, who’ve had Nikki’s back (and mine) since the beginning.  Thanks, guys._  That’s – wow!”

Esposito stared at the page, then turned toward me.  “Whoa.  That’s – I don’t know what it is, but it’s impressive as hell.”

Abruptly, Kate was standing next to me.  “That wasn’t in the proof,” she said softly, as Ryan and Esposito stood burbling happily at each other.

“The dedication goes in last,” I told her.  “And they deserve it.”

Captain Montgomery chose that moment to emerge from his office.  “Congratulations, gentlemen,” he said, smiling – then added, “but you do still have a trial coming up.”

“Um, right.  Sir,” Ryan said, quickly resuming his seat by Esposito’s desk.

I reached for my briefcase, but before I could extract the captain’s copy of _Desert Heat_, Montgomery interrupted.  “I need a word with you.  Both of you, actually,” he added, nodding at Kate.  He motioned us into his office and closed the door.

Kate spoke first.  “Is something wrong, sir?”

“Not at all,” the captain said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous.  “There is, however, a strictly unofficial situation that’s arisen in connection with your recent...change in personal status.  Ordinarily I wouldn’t dream of bringing this up, but—”  He paused, clearly flustered.

I exchanged a mystified look with Kate, who proceeded to turn hers on Montgomery.  “Bringing what up?”

Before he could answer, I snapped my fingers.  “It’s the pool.  It has to be.  On when the two of us first committed wild and crazy monkey love.  Except...I’d have sworn Esposito was running that.”

“No, it was Lanie,” Kate said.  “She had it going before you’d been here three months, but after the first year I never heard any more about it.  I figured everyone had given up.”

Montgomery cleared his throat.  “You’re both right,” he said.  “There were two pools. Both of which were, of course, entirely against regulations.  Also, Lanie and Javier were both doing their best to, ah, ensure a resolution to the matter, which presented certain ethical complications.  Under the circumstances, I decided the only possible solution was to merge the pools and personally ensure fairness was being observed by all parties.  Also,” he added, amusement having finally trumped embarrassment, “everyone did _not_ give up.  Quite the contrary, in fact.”

Kate’s expression was wavering between horror and fascination.  “Do I dare ask how much we’re worth to the winner?”

The captain flipped open a pocket-sized black notebook.  “That’s one of the scariest things about this whole business,” he said.  “As of this morning, the balance – including interest – is just under $3600.”

I whistled.  “Impressive.  I assume people have made additional predictions over time, then?”

“They have.  The most recent window closed last weekend, which is one reason I wanted to check on the situation now.  The sooner I can close this matter out, the happier I’ll be.”

“I regret to inform you,” I said, “that a winner can’t yet be determined.  However, under the circumstances, we’ll certainly let you know when that situation changes.”

Montgomery’s eyebrows went up.  “The engagement is still on, I hope?”

Kate gave him an inscrutable smile.  “It is.  We’re just taking certain things slowly.  In fact,” she added suddenly, “as long as we’re on the subject, there’s a question I need to ask you.”

“Oh?”  It was Montgomery’s turn to look mystified.

“It’s about the wedding,” she explained.  “It’s going to be a little unconventional – Castle, ah, Rick is having Alexis as best girl.”

“I can see that,”  the captain said, nodding.  “She’ll do well, I’m sure.”

“What I was thinking,” Kate went on rapidly, “was that under the circumstances, I ought to have a man of honor.  And there’s only one person I could possibly ask to be that person.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Montgomery look quite so surprised, but he recovered quickly.  “I don’t know that I’d be much help getting you dressed for the ceremony.”

Kate threw him a mild eye-roll.  “You can trade that part of the job with Alexis.”

“Possibly so,” he said.  “But what about Lanie?  I thought you’d ask her to be maid of honor.”

“If it were any other wedding,” Kate said, meeting his gaze head-on, “I would.  Lanie’s the best cheerleader ever – but for this, I need a rock.  Also, someone who won’t have quite as much fun planning the bachelorette party,” she added.

At that, Montgomery let out a chuckle.  “Point taken.”  Then he gave her a more serious look.  “I’m honored.  And I accept.”

A knock sounded on the office door.  At a word from the captain, Esposito poked his head inside.  “New case,” he said.  “Juilliard, two bodies – naked, inside a grand piano.  Apparently they were making beautiful music together.  Ryan’s calling Lanie now.”

“We’ll keep you updated,” I told Montgomery as Kate and I headed for the door.


End file.
